Slutocracy

I was trying to type the word "slut" into my phone today, but the T9 thought I meant "plutocracy". My phone thinks I'm far more refined than I am.

Don't Buy Iraqi Dinars

I had another event-filled weekend. This one started Saturday morning with the first sailing race of the season. We finished second of the six boats in our section and fourth of the thirteen in our fleet. Also, I didn't do anything stupid, so it was a good race. I think I might be better at this than I previously assumed, as I was commended for good sail trim and communication while a couple other guys who have been doing this for a couple years were making foolish mistakes. I've still got a lot to learn though.

After the race I headed over to Palermo's for Twinkie's graduation party. The open bar provided some much needed social lubricant and things turned out to be pretty fun. Twinkie announced she'll be working as the vault coordinator for Harry Winston's Chicago location, a job she was pretty much born to do. It turns out that it's still sometimes awkward to be friends with both Toners and Twinkie. Since that group hasn't really kept in touch with Toners, they were asking about what he was up to. I told them about his plan to move in with Otter and talked a little bit about her as well. She was somewhat dismissed with the requisite "yellow fever" jokes and things moved on. It was surprising to hear. It happened in almost the exact same way Carroll guys dismiss Twinkie, but it still somewhat shocked me and suddenly I was playing defense. The whole thing is made even more poignant by the fact that I was defending Twinkie to Otter only a week before. In the end, it was nice to see everyone, but it also became apparent that these people that I used to be good friends with have become merely acquaintances.

Sunday morning I drove down to Toners' lake house in Bloomington. I suppose a consequence of our man-dating is that I now have man-in-laws (That term doesn't work like I want it to, buy you get the idea.). It was a very relaxing weekend filled with boat rides, Cuba libres, cigars, music, and tons of delicious food. While sitting on the dock with P-dawg, he nicely expressed his appreciation for having me as a part of the family. I graciously agreed and said I felt as comfortable there as I did at home, but then he said he hoped it was even more so. I keep getting the feeling that he has very little respect for my parents and that he's supportive because he thinks I get no support at home. I don't like the way he plays this game and I find him to be inappropriately presumptuous. Sometimes I think he's far too used to be right and just assumes he's right all the time. I know all parents (and all people) have some flaws. My parents are humble enough to admit that of themselves; I don't know if P-dawg is.

This whole mess gets way more fun across generations. Toners does the same thing his dad does in some cases: spout bullshit. I don't really mind it when Toners does it and I often call him out on it. He's not nearly as much of a lawyer as his dad is, but something has definitely rubbed off. Far more interesting is the relationship between Grandpa Bob (Toners' mom's father; P-dawg's father-in-law) and P-dawg. From what I gathered in listening to Bob for thirty minutes, he's an arrogant asshole in love with his money. I admit I might be wrong, but that's at least the personality he wears on his sleeve. Funny enough, P-dawg doesn't buy the bullshit that Bob spouts anymore than I buy Toners'. After Bob and P-dawg volley back and forth with underhanded insults, P-dawg starts to tell his story of being an Iraqi millionaire. As he explains, he bought several million Iraqi dinars for about $5000 US with the presumption that when the US installs a stable government, the exchange value of the dinar will shoot up and be worth far more than $5000 US. At worst, he's out $5000. Any degree of research on the internet will reveal that the dinar is not an internationally regulated and traded currency and as such does not have a dynamic value. The value is currently set at 1197 dinar per US dollar and this is unlikely to change anytime soon. The only way to get the currency is through black market exchange as international banks will not trade unregulated currency. Typical black market rates charge up to a 30% mark up, so it's possible that his $5000 US instantly turned into $3500 the day he bought the currency. It is unlikely that the currency will significantly deflate anytime soon. Even with an established government, Iraq's economy will stay be based on oil. They have no significant industrial development that would allow them to export anything else. Thus, their international economy will go through very little change even with a massive regime overhaul. If a legitimate regulated economy is installed in Iraq, it is much more likely that the currency will undergo dollarization and P-dawg will have to buy back his American money at a loss.

Wiggleston and Jenny McCarthy

Friday and Saturday were full of extremes for me. Everywhere I went, I felt like family and I felt like a stranger. I felt supported and condemned. Excited and depressed. Among friends and alone.

I spent Friday prepping the house for the next day. I mowed the lawn, cleaned up the house, and unloaded the rented tables and chairs while Toners and co. were at his recognition ceremony. Upon their return, we all prepped egg casserole for the next morning. It was a simple task, but it occurred to me that it seemed like something my family is incapable of. We seldom seem able to work together without somebody/everybody getting pissed off. I wish that weren't the case. Teamwork prevailed again the next morning for the final clean up and set up. Again, I was amazed.

We went out to dinner Friday evening with everybody and their families. I've always found it very fun to see the families that people come from. I was particularly interested to meet Otter's family, but I ended up not talking to them very much, or any other "adults" for that matter. (On that note, I have no idea when I'll begin to think of myself as an adult. Probably not until I'm at least 30.) I was assumed to be Toners' brother by two other people. This was a fair assumption since I was there with Toners' family and Toners and I have very similar mannerisms. Still, it annoyed me on a couple of accounts. It made me feel like an ancillary character in the whole event, which was harsh considering that I knew how things could have been that weekend had I not fucked everything up for the past two years. The second problem I had with this mistaken identity was that last semester I had given my student ID to my brother to get him into a football game while I had taken Toners. The usher immediately knew the face on the card wasn't me. I don't get it.

That night, I went out to Finnie's with Yardbird, his brother, and Carita. To be honest, I didn't have much fun. There were surprisingly few people there that I knew and I guess I just wasn't in the mood. We went to Nick's Patio later and met up with Katherine and Bethany (fellow chemical engineers). I was glad to see them one last time. We aren't more than casual friends, but they are among few of my classmates that I don't feel judged by.

The next day was the big brunch. We had a bunch of friends, families, food, booze, and a clown named Wiggleston. The whole thing was rather ridiculous, in a very good way. We got our faces painted, Tay-tay got drunk and flirted with the clown , and everybody seemed to have a good time. At some point, Toners and I were talking to Yardbird's brother who expressed that his family and all sympathized when they heard I had left school and were all very happy to hear I'd be returning. To that, Tony responded that his dad (P-dawg) had told him that he "better not pull that shit." This was somewhat harsh to hear, especially considering how P-dawg had made a point of being supportive and extending a hand if I needed it. It makes me wonder what everyone really thinks of me. In the end, I don't know why I even care.

I gave Toners an autographed copy of Jenny McCarthy's Surfin' Safari for his graduation. Jenny happened to be a TA in his preschool class. I even had a little speech about her being the alpha and omega of his Catholic education. I'm pretty proud of myself for that find.

Later that evening I went to Aitch's apartment for the BP family party. Seeing the girls with their parents pretty much made my night. A particular highlight was watching Aitch and her dad walk by with the same gait and Aitch struggling to keep up with the longer-limbed man as she yelled directions to the airport. Seeing the resemblance between Bruges and her mother was also very entertaining. Not only do they look alike and sound alike, but they move their hands in the same ways when they speak, laugh at themselves in the same way, and even complain in the same way. As much fun as it was, it was also the most awkward part of the weekend. Dads talked to dads and moms talked to moms about their daughters' pasts and futures and I didn't really fit in to any of it. I was particularly uncomfortable talking to Colleen's parents. Everything started out fine, but as we talked they realized I was the "O'Malley" their daughter had talked about. Suddenly I was being told that I had been having too much fun at school and that I really had to focus when I went back. I've had people supportively tell me to keep my head on straight and stay focused, but this seemed like an all out condemnation. They were being awfully audacious and it really put me off. Once again, I don't know why I care. On a more amusing related note, just about everyone there knew me as O'Malley. I would introduce myself to parents by my first name and make small talk for a few minutes before they realized I was O'Malley and then suddenly I'd find out that they'd heard all about me. It was very strange. Finally I said my goodbyes and left. My last hugs to Aitch and Bruges were some of the hardest I've made.

Reggae Capital, USA

My extended weekend went pretty much as I expected it to. Radiohead was fantastic and completely worth the hassle of getting up before dawn to drive the three hundred miles back to Chicago. The subsequent Wrigley experience was among the most ridiculous things I've been involved in. It was hardly necessary that there was a baseball game being played; give us some bleachers and a beer vendor and we'll have a good time anywhere. After the game, we all went to the Wild Hare and Singing Armadillo Frog Sanctuary. I ran up an $80 tab (on top of the $75 I spent at Wrigley) buying the whole group (and the men's room attendant) drinks. When I'm drunk, I apparently believe that m income is ten times what it actually is. Deuces made $20 dancing with a couple of sexagenarians, though unfortunately he didn't break out the famed "pick up change" move. I spent over an hour in the men's room chatting it up with the aforementioned attendant. Recently, I've noticed myself turning into my dad. I could never figure out how he could meet some random guy and know his whole life story in a matter of half an hour, yet on a couple of occasions, I've done the exact same thing. After we'd had enough fun, we headed back to the south side to get our cars and drive to South Bend, where upon arrival I ignored my phone and promptly fell asleep.

Bittersweet

My schedule for the weekend:

5/14 6:30am - Start work
5/14 10:30am - Leave work/road trip to St. Louis
5/14 3:30pm - Arrive in St. Louis
5/14 7:00pm - Radiohead concert with Major
5/14 11:00pm - Leave St. Louis
5/15 4:00am - Arrive in Chicago
5/15 10:00am - Get in line for bleachers for the Cubs game
5/15 1:20pm - First pitch
5/15 6:00pm - Leave for South Bend
5/15 9:00pm - Arrive in South Bend
5/16 --------- ??????
5/17 9:00am - Brunch with Toners, Otter, other friends, and their parents
5/17 3:00pm - Barbecue with Aitch, Bruges, other friends, and their parents
5/17 9:00pm - Leave South Bend for Chicago
5/17 10:00pm - Arrive in Chicago
5/18 2:00pm - Notre Dame's 163rd Commencement; I should be there, not here.

The Verve - Bittersweet Symphony

Talk Derby To Me or: Otter Bares All

What a weekend. Kudos to Louisville for having a day dedicated to cute girls in cute hats. I put just under 800 miles on my car in about 48 hours. I love road trips, though I wish I had better copilots. Bruges was with me on the way down to Louisville, so that's a big plus. She ranks high among a small group of people with which I could drive across the country and be happy with the whole time. It was a great drive. We made the full 270 miles in just over five hours, including stops for food and booze. I learned that the Thunderbird tops out 116mph before the the rev-limiter kicks in, which is good to know. Unfortunately, I left my sunglasses on the roof of the T-bird when we stopped for gas in South Bend. Fortunately, when we stopped for gas outside of Indianapolis, I found them stuck in the spoiler. This was after hitting 116mph on US31. It was the first of several Derby miracles.

The weather when we arrived at the campsite was pretty dismal, which resulted in about 30 of us all huddled under a 10 ft. x 10 ft. rain canopy. It turned out to be pretty fun, with everyone boozing and getting to know each other. I only knew five of the people in our group at the beginning of it all, but everyone made friends fast. Finally the wind took down our canopy and we retreated to the car to smoke cigars and sip Woodford. It wasn't quite camping, but it wasn't that far off either.

Derby Day started with the same dismal weather as the night before, with cold rain and a thoroughly gray sky. However, as we got our tailgating on outside of Papa John's Cardinal Stadium, a sliver of blue appeared and slowly spread across the entire sky. It turned out to be a beautiful day. There were hundreds of Notre Dame seniors around and I ran into dozens that I knew. The highlight of the tailgating was our own miniature derby in the parking lot. It was done in teams of two, a "horse" and a "jockey". The jockey had to shotgun a beer and jump on the horse, who then ran about a hundred feet down and back, and then the horse shotgunned a beer at the finish. Oh college.

The race itself paled in comparison to the tailgating. I had mint juleps and lost fifty bucks with no regret. It was fun, but there were fewer people I knew and less room for us to get into trouble. At some point, I made a bet with Aitch which I only vaguely remember. The evidence is in a note I left myself in my phone which reads "Aitch Cookie Monster 10 dollars 60 days". I seem to recall it had something to do with her finding a cookie monster t-shirt and I was giving her 60 days to do it. I wish I could figure it out. On the bright side, she can't figure it out either, so I'm looking to come into some money.

The good weather continued that night and we all went back to the campsite and sat around a fire. As I lay on the grass, I couldn't help but wish that I had someone there with me. Others were around, but no one was with me and it seemed I was the only one to appreciate it as others scrambled to get their food and alcohol in order.

The next day we drove back to South Bend and the Derby trip came to a close. To celebrate, I accidentally walked in on Otter naked. She wasn't changing, just standing around naked in Toners' room. It was surprisingly not that awkward (at least in my opinion, she may disagree). Slightly more awkward was the dinner we went out to soon afterward. I don't know if it was just me being so tired, but I felt somewhat annoyed the whole time. It seemed like there wasn't much of a conversation. One girl we were out with in particular got on my nerves and I think Otter may have felt the same. Everthing she did just seemed childish. On the other hand, I randomly began singing "Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah", so I can't really claim to be an adult.

For the conclusion of this seemingly endless weekend, I met with Aitch for tea and hummus. We were both still wiped out from the drive and the partying, but it was nice to relax with her. I think I'm going to miss her more than anyone else after this school thing is all done. It could be because I think she's going to go on and do grand things in a new life that's starting imminently, and it will be harder to stay close. Or it could be because I still can't seem to shake the crush I have on her. It's probably a little of both.

The Hold Steady - Chips Ahoy!

Allan Sherman - Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah!

Tenacity

A couple of weeks ago I went on Craigslist with the intent of posting an ad saying I was available to crew for a sailboat this summer. There are occasionally sailboat owners who want to do more sailing or compete in a few smaller races, but would like another deckhand. I figured I had an outside shot at finding someone like that. When I got on the site, I did a cursory search and found an ad put up by MORF saying they were looking for anyone interested in sailing so they could fill out the crews on some of their boats. I immediately replied and hoped for the best, but didn't have too much expectation. They are a lot of people on Lake Michigan who are much better sailors than me. I sail about as well as a 16 year-old drives a car. I can make it go, but I don't really have much skill. I really want to get to the point where sailing becomes as natural to me as driving is now.

To my surprise, I received an email from MORF telling me that I've been assigned to Tenacity. On top of this, I learned that the owners of this boat are also the top dogs at MORF, so I'm more than a little intimidated. I hope they don't expect me to be more skilled than I actually am. Also of interesting note: at least three of the sailors (including one of the captains/owners) work at Fermilab. I never thought I'd meet a bunch of high-level physicists in a sailboat. This whole thing is going to be very interesting.

I'm leaving work in an hour to drive to South Bend, then to Louisville for the Kentucky Derby. I lead an exciting life sometimes. It surprises me.

Styx - Come Sail Away

From the Ritz to the Depths of Hell

On Friday, I went with Otter, Toners, Aitch, Bruges, Da Hulk, and a few others to see Half Pint Jones play at Club Lasalle. It was quite the classy affair. I simultaneously tried to look like and avoid looking like a douchebag. I don't know if I was successful on either front. I wish I had style. Some people can wear loud clothes and look good doing it. That's not me. Oh well. I feel like I need a new look. I also feel lame for caring about this at all. In the end, the night was a success--much better than going to the Backer or Finny's like everyone else.

The next morning, Toners and I woke up early to drive to Munster to buy Three Floyds' Dark Lord Russian Imperial Stout. We arrived at about 10am to a line that stretched several blocks and was 5-6 people wide. It took us five hours of shuffling forward before we got our opportunity to buy six bottles of beer at 66 cents an ounce, which we still haven't cracked open. Next year we'll be better prepared to deal with the crowd and occupy ourselves in line. It was fun to hang out with Toners on our semi man date. I feel we haven't done that in quite a while. I miss living with him, and I think the feeling is mutual. I doubt there will be an opportunity in the future for that to happen again, so I regret messing up the arrangement we had. I won't feel nearly as comfortable in the house next year. None of the places I live really feel like home anymore.

Toners and I returned to South Bend to a day party being thrown at our house. I love day drinking, especially with the Babes. As I told Aitch, they all act like toddlers when drunk (I hope she didn't take offense). As the party wound down, Aitch ran off without telling anyone; Bruges passed out and curled up in my bed; Da Hulk got bossy; the Archae (as in archaeologist) got pouty. They were all tuckered out. It was adorable.

I left the party around the dusk and started heading back home. My cousin was having a birthday party at one of our local bars. He's been having a rough time for the last five years or so, so I'm very glad that so many of his friends showed up. Everyone had a good time.

Fergie - Glamorous (Treasure Fingers Remix)

Back in the saddle

Today I found out that I'll definitely be back at Notre Dame in the fall. I originally wasn't supposed to find out until June, so the timing came as a surprise. So did the decision. In January, I was completely confident that I'd be readmitted. Since then, each passing day has brought more and more doubt as I reflected on whether or not I deserved a third chance. I'm pretty sure I don't. I'm back due to someone's blind faith, not because I earned it. My only goal is that in a year from now, no one has any regrets regarding the outcome of that decision.

Blind Faith - Can't Find My Way Home

*Disclaimer: I took a two week hiatus. I'm actually writing this the morning of 5/7/08, but I'm writing what I think I would have written on this posting date.

Hipsters are the new jocks

I really dislike hipsters and anyone else with a cooler-than-thou-and-I-don't-even-care attitude. It's all so stupid. However, I am thankful for hipsters because without them, I could not be entertained by this.

It was kind of a crazy weekend. First, there was Pigtostal, which was fun as always. However, while at Pigtostal, I learned that a guy who used to live down the hall from me and work with me died in a bus accident in Thailand two days before. It was kind of a mindfuck to hear about it. I wasn't particularly close with this guy, but I knew him. I've never known anyone who's died tragically before.

Then that night, I went out with my ex-ex-girlfriend, the Lugan, and realized I'm still attracted to her. I never stopped thinking she was attractive, but I wasn't interested in her. Then I danced with her for the first time in four years and it was the most fun I had dancing since the last time we had danced together. She seemed to enjoy it too. In fact, I think she was fighting the urge to kiss me. I certainly was doing the same. She's taken, so it's good I still have some will power. Still, I wonder what would have happened if I'd gone for it.


MESH - Hipsters are the New Jocks

This is where I first heard the MESH track:
DJ Z-Trip - Indie 103.1 Mix

Over and over and over and over

I went to see Hot Chip at the Vic with Otter and Toners last night. Major was supposed to come too, but instead he had to do some film editing for class. So once again, I played third wheel. Normally, this doesn't bother me, but with everyone moving on to jobs or grad school, it emphasizes the fact that I just seem to be floating alone with no real direction. In this river of life, I'm kind of sick of drifting alone on my raft while everyone else seems to be rowing toward some destination. I'm not foolish enough to believe they know where they're going; they don't have a map, but they might have a compass. Meanwhile, I don't even feel like I have oars.

I seem to be obsessed with extended analogies recently.

Anyways, I've decided I actually have something to look forward to next year in that I'll get to meet a bunch of new people. I still treasure my closest friends, but the extended social circles were getting a little stale. Maybe I'll even find someone that is both dating-material and single. My hopes aren't sky-high, because at Notre Dame it seems that the non-crazies get taken pretty quickly. Hell, even the crazies get taken quickly. But at least I don't have to worry about ruining any friendships or anything like that. We'll see how it goes, but it could be very nice if I have good luck. I haven't taken a girl to a show in a long time, and there's not too much better than dancing in the pulsing glow of the stage lights with your current crush.

Hot Chip - Sexual Healing

You spin me right round...

This photo is by Clayton Hauck. He's essentially Chicago's premier nightlife photographer. He's responsible for the web gallery EveryoneIsFamous, which I've been a fan of for about a year now. I've always been really interested in DJs. I think their role is very interesting, in that they're kind of part of the party and they're kind of not. Plus, they command the decks. It's like watching Tom Hanks in Apollo 13. Or a surgeon, even. They're bobbing their head and dancing around, but they've got their hands and eyes on the decks the whole time, adjusting pitches and loops that the crowd doesn't even listen to if the breakbeat is good enough. Every so often, I get inspired to go online to drop $500 (or more) on a set of used turntables, a mixer, and a copy of Final Scratch. Then I look across the room at the $300 guitar I never learned to play. I wish I weren't so lazy.

Dead or Alive - You Spin Me Round (Like A Record)

To all the cute girls out there trying to get my attention:

Cute girls in cute hats are cute. I thought you should know. But seriously, I wonder if I have a strange way of judging attractiveness. Of course everyone has their turn-ons and turn-offs, but I tend to find that mine manifest themselves in style. Of course, it doesn't hurt to be physically attractive, but this photo probably wouldn't have stood out to me if this girl were in a bikini.

Religion? No thank you.

In recent years, I've always answers relating to my religious beliefs completely unabashedly: I am atheist. For the most part, I'm proud to say it, though occasionally it's a little awkward since I'm at a Catholic school. But now that I'm reapplying to that school, I chose to play the game and answer "Catholic". To be honest, I feel a little disgusted with myself. I struggle a lot with the ethics of lying. I don't know if there's a single person in my life I've never lied to, and I don't know if there's a problem with that. When it's important, I usually tell the truth. In fact, I pride myself on being straight with people a great deal. But when it's a bullshit question like this, why bother giving it any serious thought? The real problem with all of this is that it's based in the fact that most people don't want to hear the truth; they want to hear what they think the truth should be.

Have you got everything you need? Cheers.

When relating to fiction, most people tend to put themselves in the protagonist's role. For example, with the television show The Office, viewers are likely to see themselves as Jim Halpert/Tim Canterbury rather than Michael Scott/David Brent or Dwight Schrute/Gareth Keenan. While it's obvious that these characters are exaggerated to the point of artificiality, most of us know people in our own lives with these characteristics. The funny thing is that even the guy at your own office that you would swear is the template for Dwight probably puts himself in Jim's shoes. Or, at the very least, sees himself as a fledgling version of Jim. He may not be as witty or likable, but he tries to be.

On the other end, I keep relating to the desperate boss. I had always empathized with Michael and David; for as crass and as clueless as they often were, I can't dislike someone who's just trying to make everyone else happy. Sometimes I wonder if I come off that way. The truth is, I know I am that way. I like to think I'm not as off-putting as those characters, though. Particularly recently, I feel like I'm the one always extending invitations and I'm lucky if I can even get a few people to RSVP, let alone invite me to their own parties.

Everything seems particularly poignant now. In another month, I'll be all out of chances to see a lot of people. There will be plenty of people I consider friends that won't see again until the five-year reunion, if even then. Though it sounds pessimistic, I know that this won't bother me for the vast majority of people. It's the same with graduating high school or even grade school. There were plenty of classmates that I thought it would be nice to keep in touch with over the years, but the reality is that I was never that close to them and it didn't really matter to me. It'd be great to see many of them again, but it won't be the rekindling of a friendship. I think I already know the five or so people that I'll keep in touch with in the next decade, but of course I could still be surprised. The thing that bothers me is that I feel like I'll be doing all the work for one in particular, which leads me to think that maybe it's not worth the effort if I'm the only one invested.

I've always had a sort of feeling that I'm always the one seeking the friendship of others and no is seeking me. Then, if I were to just stop doing anything on my end, people would just move on and forget about me. This fear has unfortunately become more piercing in recent months. I feel like I'm waving my arms from a hundred miles away trying to get people's attention. Luckily, I do get their attention, but I wonder if anyone would notice me if I weren't waving my arms. And the worst is yet to come. When everyone else finishes the race a month from now, I'll still be on the track, a lap behind. By the time I finish, the podium will be clear and the stands empty, except for a few friends. I know I'll be grateful for the friends that are there, but I'll be hurt by the ones that aren't.

Goat soup

Tonight after work I went out for dinner with Otter, Toners, and P-Dawg (Toners' dad). It was a good time, as is to be expected with that crowd. Toners and Otter are among my best friends and two of the few people around which I can feel comfortable saying anything. P-Dawg seems to fit in to this group too, which is kind of weird, given the generational gap. On the other hand, I feel like my relationship with *real* adults has changed immensely between being 17-19 and 20-22. In addition, P-Dawg is just one of those guys who can simultaneously be completely straight with you, be supportive, and be nonjudgmental. It almost doesn't make sense. Even so, I'd feel almost as comfortable opening up to him as I would my own parents or close friends.

Interestingly enough, the conversation tonight turned toward a friend of P-Dawg's and the doubts this friend had about himself. I'm not sure if this was intentional or not (I lean toward yes), but the emotions articulated reminded me very much of my own emotions. In relating his story, P-Dawg effectively related his support of me (in addition to explicitly stating it). On the one hand, I'd be very happy if it were the case that P-Dawg related the story for the purpose of supporting me. On the other hand, it'd be even better if he related the story as a sort of human solidarity, recognizing the struggles and emotions we all go through, and the importance of relating our experiences to those who care about us so that they can lend support. I see it as a combination of motives. I believe P-Dawg was sincere in his universal application of the situation, but still might have made a special emphasis given the situation I'm in and the fact that it had been acknowledged earlier.

On the whole, it was a very nice dinner. Not to discount the support of my friends or parents, but the opinion of P-Dawg (and a few select others who are close but not too close) really has an effect on my confidence. I expect the support of my friends and family, but it's a pleasant bonus to have the support of those who have a decidedly smaller stake in my success. It's the difference between being in a band where your only fans are friends and family and reaching that point where you meet someone who doesn't know you and simply appreciates the music. It makes me feel like my plight has some credence.

To go in the completely opposite direction, I'm again reminded of how far I've fallen. There's been a picture slide show on my parents' PC of pictures that were taken during my first weekend in college. That's about three and a half years ago. One of those pictures is the one at the top of this post. It's cake for all the Reilly Scholars with each of our names on it. It essentially meant that we were among the top applicants admitted to the university. That puts me in about the top 2% of applicants for my year (according to GPA, standardized tests, etc. I don't doubt there were better applicants that didn't get included, but at the time, I looked damn good on paper). Now I'm probably in the bottom 2% of students. I never would have thought that possible. I still can't really wrap my mind around it. I know I'm not stupid. I used to work hard. I used to earn top honors in everything I did. Why don't I anymore? Why didn't I react when I saw it all falling apart?

Stop the machine

As I mentioned before, Otter started her blog a day before mine. As I'm writing this, I think she's the only one that knows it exists, though it's possible that she also told Toners/WBAW. As for her blog, I'd bet the readership is the same is mine. As such, in trying to open ourselves up to the world and become as transparent as possible about our private thoughts, we are primarily bearing our souls to each other. Suddenly a public "airing of grievances" has become a private conversation. This immediately led me to recall a scene in Kerouac's On the Road in which Dean and Carlo attempt to communicate their entire psyches to each other:

Then they got down to business. They sat on the bed cross-legged and looked straight at each other. I slouched in a nearby chair and saw all of it. They began with an abstract thought, discussed it; reminded each other of another abstract point forgotten in the rush of events; Dean apologized but promised he could get back to it and manage it fine, bringing up illustrations.

This goes on as Dean and Carlo recount every bit of minutia--every thought, every action. Then Carlo asks Dean if he's been completely honest with him and with himself and exposed every detail. Sal intercedes:

"That last thing is what you can't get, Carlo. Nobody can get that last thing. We keep on living in hopes of catching it once and for all."

I wonder if that's what my goal is in this endeavor. I read A Year Following the Breakup and was inspired by the way this man I had never met was so able to communicate these feelings that are common to us all, but we rarely discuss. It was a sort of peek into his soul. I feel like maybe I'm doing this in the hopes that someone will read it and say, "Hey, we're not so different, you and I, and we're not alone."

Unfortunately, this style of communication has a potential to counteract the purpose of our experiment. In being anonymous, we felt we had the opportunity to write unabashedly. (Perhaps I should speak for only myself, but I think the feeling is mutual.) In knowing that I have one guaranteed reader that I am already very close to, I might be inclined to massage or omit what I otherwise would have written. I intend for this not to happen.

The blogging medium is an interesting creature. It's as if Otter and I were in a large room, standing in opposite corners, facing the wall, and talking to ourselves. There could be hundreds of other people in the room, but they all have headphones on. We know that we hear each other and no one else does. Yet, we're not having a face-to-face conversation. I write my words; Otter writes hers. Maybe we respond to each other or comment on what the other has said; maybe we don't. It's interesting. I wonder how it will play out in the next few months. I wonder what others will think when they start reading this. I wonder if Toners already has.

Anyways, this whole reflection was sparked by what Otter wrote yesterday about moving forward in the next few months, and, in particular, what she wrote about me. She didn't say anything really controversial or enlightening; she merely pointed out the elephant in the room. I had expressed my sadness to Toners and Aitch before, and I don't think they were surprised by what I said. Otter, though, was the first to bring it up unprompted. It makes me wonder how good my facade really is, or if there's a point to having one. It's a lot easier on everyone, including myself, if we just focus on what's happy when we're all together. After all, I don't want to remember this semester as a complete downer. It was supposed to be a celebration, and in many ways it still can be. Even assuming the worst of possible outcomes, I'll get on and I'll be successful. This is a disappointment, to be sure, but people have dealt with much worse and done very well. Still, even though I rationally know that everything will be alright and I'm not in that bad of a spot, when I stop to reflect on it, I feel a pang that can only be described as heartbreak. I'm feeling it now.

"Ah, child," said Carlo.
"We'll just have to sleep now. Let's stop the machine."
"You can't stop the machine!" yelled Carlo at the top of his voice. The first birds sang.
"Now, when I raise my hand," said Dean, "we'll stop talking, we'll both understand purely and without any hassle that we are simply stopping talking, and we'll just sleep."
"You can't stop the machine like that."
"Stop the machine," I said. They looked at me.

Blue (Da Ba Dee)

For my 14th birthday, my parents got me a CD burner. This was back in 2000, when they weren't all that common. My brother (Teeoh) found my first mix CD today and had it in the car. Amazingly, I recognized it after listening to the first two tracks. Here's the entire track list in all its embarrassing glory.

1. Metallica - Enter Sandman (Live)
2. Harvey Danger - Flagpole Sitta'
3. Beck - Loser
4. Korn - Got the Life
5. Nirvana - Smells Like Teen Spirit
6. Kid Rock - Bawitdaba
7. Kid Rock - Cowboy
8. Blur - Song 2
9. Blink-182 - Dammit
10. Eiffel 65 - Blue (Da Ba Dee)
11. Cake - Never There
12. Cake - The Distance
13. Foo Fighters - New Way Home
14. Foo Fighters - Everlong
15. Foo Fighters - My Hero
16. Everclear - Everything to Everyone
17. Everclear - I Will Buy You a New Life
18. Everclear - Father of Mine

Eiffel 65 - Blue (Da Ba Dee)

Never gonna stop

I don't want to blow my wad in the first day, but I've got another nugget for you all. To set the stage, I went to see Vampire Weekend at the Metro in Chicago this past Sunday with Otter, Toners, Bruges and a handful of others. If you follow music criticism online, you know VW went through about four degrees of backlash after the obscene amount of hype they received for months before their full-length debut. It was a great show and everyone had a lot of fun. Anyways, the opener was a guy known as Yacht (real name: Jona Bechtolt). His performance also featured his girlfriend, Claire L. Evans. She even gave me a hug, which Jona seemed perturbed by. Oh well.

The show was fun, but not exactly my thing. It was very entertaining and a great warm-up, though I'd probably never listen to them at home, and I would've liked more dancing. Nevertheless, I was searching around the tubes today looking to see what they're about. I have to say this is quite the dynamic duo. Jona is responsible for the pop-culture creations AirMail and (along with Claire) Flickrblockrs and cofounded the blogging community Urban Honking, which features around fifty Portland, OR bloggers including Jona and Claire.

Now to get to the point.

After all this great stuff I read about both of these people, largely extending beyond the musical realm, I came across this post (click for free music) on Brooklyn Vegan which featured unprovoked comments that unabashedly ripped on Jona. I was particularly surprised by the guy who hated on the Q&A session at the show. I thought it was a fun way to bring some approachability to normally distant electronic artists. After flailing around on stage in a very entertaining way, the duo took some time to acknowledge the crowd and try to get them into the show. They were just trying to make people have FUN. Why all the hatred? (Full disclosure: The Q&A session was how I got my hug, so I might be biased).

When you're at a show, why not enjoy the music? (And dance more, you vapid hipsters.)

It's like pizza, baby: it's good no matter what.

I thought I could start this all out with something profound. A quote from Wedding Crashers, however, is not. Baby steps. Even so, it's one that I very strongly agree with. For those of you who need their memory jogged, the whole thing is:

John Beckwith (Owen Wilson): "Did you have a band?"
Mrs. Kroeger: "Yeah."
John: "Good or bad?"
Jeremy Grey (Vince Vaughn): "Who gives a shit? It's a great band, it's a bad band, it's like pizza, baby: it's good no matter what. There's music in the air!"

I like the sentiment. Weddings seem to be a bastion of realized idealism. It's not often you can get so many different people together and have them all be (or at least act) happy. More amazing, the celebrations are at once diverse and universal, like the music that's played at them. Polka, American standards, R&B, 80s kitsch, Hindi, folk - you could even hear it all at the same reception. Plus, in no other setting would it be possible to see a 17 year old metal-head and the grandma who only listens jazz standards both dancing to "Shake Your Groove Thing". I'm not saying that's happened ever, but if it did, would you bet against it being at a wedding?

The larger point I want to make is going back to the music. I was originally going to say something trite about music being a universal language (which is true) and that it's amazing how it makes people shut up and listen (which is true). Then I would have said something about music being more important to me than others (which is probably true). Instead, I quote CSS: Music is my hot, hot sex. Pizza, beer, sex, music. Even if it's bad, it's good (unless it's really, really bad). I intend to continue this sentiment in the future, but this post is already getting too long. And I now realize that what I'm trying to say isn't very well developed. We'll see how it goes in the future.

Since this is the first post, I'll explain where I want this blog to go. Obviously, there will be music. Also, there will be beer. For those that don't know (most of you), "lautering" is the act of separating the wort (liquid) from grain when brewing beer. Maybe sex and pizza will appear too, but probably not. There will be smatterings of philosophy, politics, science, and life. That I can promise. The title of the blog is me kind of poking fun at myself. The creation of this blog is incredibly hypocritical. I've tended to think the blogging world (and the internet in general) is overwhelmed with people screaming their self-important opinions and trying to make everyone listen. Recently though, I've come across some great blogs. Predominantly, I've been inspired by a series starting with A Year in Pictures Following the Breakup. Like all great art, it's led to some great discussions. Also, I was lured into a blogging competition by my friend Otter (not her real name; more non-Animal House nicknames to come) who started her own blog yesterday.

This post is over. Wish me luck on the rest of them.

CSS - Music Is My Hot, Hot Sex

Gogol Bordello - American Wedding